NW 5 Something Wicked This Way Comes
by LadyAryaKenobi
Summary: More about Sloan! Dick gathers clues and Nightwing punches bad guys as he begins to find out just how deep this drug ring reaches--and how far the people involved are willing to go.


Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Something Wicked This Way Comes**

_Ring…_

Ring…

Ring…

Dick wet his lips nervously. This was it. As soon as he'd punched the number, he'd recognized it as the one Sloan had dialed.

"Hello?"

Dick jumped a little at the gruff voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey… Sloan here." Dick did his best to copy the crooked lawyer's voice.

It must've worked. "Sloan? Whaddaya want? You know that yer not supposed to call here unless you've got an emergency."

Letting just a little of the nervousness he was feeling leak into this voice, Dick continued. "Aw, cool it. I might have an emergency soon."

"Whaddaya talkin' about?"

"Well… there's that vigilante… Nightwing."

The rough voice chuckled. "Yer worried about some dumb kid in a Halloween mask and tights?"

Dick frowned. "You weren't there, so you don't know."

"Know what?"

"It was bad… he just appeared out of nowhere! And you've seen him on the news… he looks sorta like a junior Bat himself." Nervous, he stood up and walked over to the fridge, taking out a Coke.

There was a slight pause. "Well… whaddaya wanna do about him?"

"I don't know…" Dick bit his lip. What _the heck am I supposed to say?_ He thought. "Um… Well, maybe we should just send a few guys out to take care of him."

The man laughed. "You know his address?"

"Of course not. But what if we stage a robbery or a mugging or something? You know, lure him to us. Then, when he gets there, BAM! We take care of him."

"Huh. You really think he's going to give us that much trouble?"

"Like I told you already… he knows," Dick said, remembering the latest phone call that he'd eavesdropped on.

The man he was talking to sighed noisily. "Look, Sloan… I'll see what I can do. But you need to forget the kid and concentrate on the sales, 'kay? I still don't see why you're so worried about what some snot-nosed brat is going to do, though."

Dick bristled, but said, "Look… if he could figure out our sales that quickly, then he's dangerous. He's got some bugging system or something set up; I don't know what."

The man laughed. "He's just a meddlesome kid, Sloan… get over it."

_That's what they always said in the Scooby Doo cartoons, too, _Dick thought grumpily as he chugged his soda.

"I won't talk about it anymore if you'll take care of him. One kid shouldn't be much of a problem for someone with your record."

"Mind your own business, Sloan." The voice was ice-cold now.

"Sure. I'd better get off, though, before someone traces the call."

"Finally, a good idea."

Dick hung up, slowly letting a breath go that he hadn't known he'd been holding. So much for all of those breathing exercises Bruce had taught him.

Well, he at least had a lead on this case. But now, when acting as Nightwing, he'd have to decide which crimes were real… and which one was fake.

_I wish I'd been able to work that out in more detail,_ he thought. _Oh, well_. He'd just have to deal with it. Right now, though, he was running late for his patrol as Nightwing. Grabbing his suit, he pulled it on, checking it over. It was a little damaged from his last encounter, but not seriously enough to interfere with his fighting. Grabbing his mask, he leapt into the night.

CRASH!!

BAM! BLAM!!

Nightwing swung through the window he'd just shattered, ducking to avoid the bullets flying towards him. He easily flipped onto a steel container before leaping in front of two of the gunmen. He had no trouble relieving them of their revolvers, and three other hoods, seeing their comrades so easily defeated, dropped their guns and laced their fingers behind their heads. Nightwing delivered a swift uppercut to the last fighter, collected the weapons and lined the men up. He surveyed the group. This had been an easy victory. Many of the criminals were just kids. One didn't look more than sixteen or seventeen. It made Dick angry. He'd seen this in Gotham too, but each time he saw it, the hate he felt for the whole illegal drug sales flared again. Kids were getting into this business younger and younger. If unchecked, they would almost inevitably turn to bigger crimes and stronger drugs.

Nightwing stepped forward and drew himself up to his full height. He looked each of the conscious druggies in the eye before slowly striding up to the youngest one. The boy glanced up at him with wide, terror-filled eyes, then looked away, mumbling. He was nervously scratching at an angry-looking rash on his arm.

"What's your name?" Nightwing put a hard edge to his voice as he towered over the younger teen.

"J-Jacob."

"Jacob…" Nightwing repeated the name slowly, committing it to his memory, then paused. "How long have you been into drugs, Jacob?"

"Um…I…I don't know…may…maybe a year or…or two…"

"Over a year?" Nightwing echoed. "And how old are you now?"

"Fifteen…sir." Jacob looked up at him uncertainly.

Nightwing gritted his teeth. "Jacob…you and your 'friends'," he waved his hand vaguely at the others, "can go free, for now. But if I catch you, any of you, doing or dealing drugs again, it's juvie for you. Got it?"

The druggies nodded dumbly.

Nightwing held out his hand.

Jacob dropped a small bag of white powder into it.

Nightwing glanced at the stuff. Opening the bag, he sniffed at it, but smelled nothing. He stuck a gloved finger in the bag, pulling a couple of grains out. Tasting it, he wondered for the thousandth time how anyone would want to waste money on the bitter-tasting powder. The morphine didn't account for Jacob's rash, though, and he was fairly sure that it was drug related.

Taking a gamble, Nightwing growled, "Where's the rest of it?"

The others exchanged surprised glances before pulling out a few more bags.

Nightwing recognized the drugs—Tuinal and Seconal. Either of those two sedatives would explain the rashes.

Nodding grimly, the young vigilante warned them. "Remember what I said," he told them before vaulting through the broken window again.

Once home, Nightwing checked the bag for fingerprints. There were only a few good ones; most were smudged from being handled by many people. He began to run tests on them, planning to compare them to the ones he'd copied from Bruce's files later.

He popped a pizza in the microwave, and sat back to review what he knew about the case. Grabbing a pencil and paper, he wrote a list.

**SUSPECTS: ****  
Sloan  
Man from phone call**

The microwave dinged, and he took the hot pie out. He set it down nearby and continued his report.

**EVIDENCE: ****  
Fax  
Two phone calls to office  
Unexplained money  
My phone call to mystery man**

Still writing, Dick reached for a slice of pizza and bit into it absently. His eyes widened as he savored the blend of cheese, meat, crust, and sauce.

**MOTIVE: ****  
Money (duh)****OPPORTUNITY: ****  
Drugs everywhere, fairly easy to obtain  
Good market for them, thus easy to get rid of****MEANS: ****  
See Opportunuity**

Here, a slice pepperoni fell onto the paper. He crumpled up the sheet, planning to throw it into the wastebasket. Remembering Tiffany's recent visit, though, he decided to burn it. No sense in taking any chances.

Watching the paper burn in the sink, Dick reflected once more on the case. He didn't know when the mystery man was going to try to get rid of him. And he had a bigger problem.

Like what would happen when Sloan called the mystery man and found out that he had supposedly made a phone call earlier? Dick had no idea of what to do about that.

At the office the next day, Sloan sent Dick on another errand. Dick tried to think of a way to stay in the office, sure that Sloan was trying to get rid of him so that he could send or receive another phone call or fax.

"Mr. Sloan?" He asked weakly. "Do you mind if I go later? I've got an awful headache."

"Look, kid, I'm not paying you to snooze in the office all day. Now, go and get those papers from James."

"But Mr. Sloan-"

"Go! You can pick up a bottle of aspirin while you're out."

Dick knew it would be useless to argue. He started toward the office door, the doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"Ooh, Mr. Sloan?"

The lawyer ran over. "What's wrong, kid? What happened?"

"I told you… I'm sick… my stomach is killing me, and my head…ooh."

"All right, all right, c'mere and sit down for a sec." He helped Dick over to a couch.

"Mm…thanks, sir." Dick slowly fell back on the worn cushions. "Can you call James and tell him I'll be a few minutes late in picking up those papers?"

Sloan started toward the phone, the hesitated. "I don't know if you'll be able to drive over in your condition. I'll tell him that you were sick and had to go home."

"No, sir, really, I'm sure I'll be fine soon…I just need to rest for a little bit. Wouldja wake me up in about ten minutes?"

"Look, kid, if you're that sick, then you don't need to be here. Remember what I told you about coming in sick last time."

"I'm-" Dick faked a yawn. "Fine. Just. Need. To. Sleep. For. A. Min…"

Sloan glanced over at the kid on his office couch. Sure enough, the boy had fallen asleep. He checked to make sure the kid really had fallen asleep, and hadn't passed out or anything.

Sloan grumbled. He really was going to have to talk to Rachel about this. He didn't need some brat who came in and slept all day talking up office space—and pay. The phone rang, and with another glance at the kid, he picked it up.

"Yeah?"

"The next shipment is on its way."

"Marty? We have a…complication."

"Yeah? Like what kind of complication?"

Over on the couch, Dick smiled to himself. He'd arrived early at the office and had bugged both phones, rigging it so that the tiny earpiece he wore picked up anything said on either end of the line. The gruff voice that Dick remembered from talking to the mystery man was the same that Sloan was talking to. _Marty._ Great. Now he had a name to put with the voice.

"Well… that kid who works in my office now- Dick Grayson- is passed out on my couch right now. He has some kind of flu or something."

"If you're sure he's asleep, then it won't be a problem."

"But what if your man gets over here just as the kid wakes up?"

"The person will be in disguise. Maybe the pizza man or something; don't worry about it, we'll work it out. You just make sure that kid stays asleep."

Sloan was sarcastic. "Well, what do you expect me to do, drug him?"

No response.

"Oh, come on, Marty. He's sleeping. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't get anything in him." He cast a nervous glance over at his employee, but the kid was still asleep.

"Tell him they're cold meds or something. I don't care how you do it, just keep him out of it."

Sloan put down the receiver slowly, and then turned to look at Grayson. He walked into his office, opening a desk drawer. Pulling out a small bottle, he poured out white stuff. He grabbed a thin needle—the kid probably wouldn't even wake up. He adjusted the amount until he had a fair-sized dose—he didn't want the kid to come to during the exchange.

He walked out, sweating nervously. Crouching down beside the kid, Sloan brought the needle up to Grayson's arm. He jumped, putting the needle behind his back as the kid groaned.

"Mr. Sloan?" Grayson's eyes cracked open halfway. "I think I'm gonna throw up."

Sloan swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he stepped back. "You're not feeling any better after your nap?" He spoke to the teen like he would a child, nervously trying to think of what to do now.

Grayson struggled to sit up. Looking at him through bleary eyes, the boy yawned. "Nope, I'm still sick… maybe you were right…maybe I should go home."

Sloan frowned. The goods would be there any minute. He didn't want to risk the delivery man and the kid running into each other.

"I was wrong. There's no way you'd be able to drive yourself, especially not on that bike of yours. You should just lie down and try to sleep it of."

The kid shook his head. "No, I think I'm just gonna go home and go to sleep, maybe get a shower."

"Just lay down. I'll go get you some tea or something." He was nearly frantic now.

"Mister Sloan. Y'okay? You don't look so good. Maybe you're picking up whatever I have."

"I'm fine! I have an important client coming, anyway. I can't go home. Now lie down and let me see if you have a fever or something." He put a hand on Dick's shoulder and tried to ease him down.

The kid's eyes widened a little bit and he sat up straighter. "If you have a client coming, I shouldn't just lay here. Move over, and I'll get up."

"Come on, Grayson, just lay down a sec."

A knock sounded at the door.

"Stay here." Sloan stood up and walked over to the door.

Opening it, he saw the person he was waiting for.

"Um, just a minute, please."

He shut the door, then walked over to the kid. He put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, kid, I've gotta go. You'll be alright if you just lie down for a minute." The lawyer brought his other hand up behind the boy. "C'mon, now…"

Dick tried to think of another excuse as he saw Sloan's needle-arm disappear behind Dick's back.

"Look, sir, I'm really fine. I just need-" He broke off as he felt the prick of the needle on the back of his arm.

"What was that?" He asked innocently, catching a whiff of a bitter odor.

"Just a little something to help you sleep. Now lie down, and I'll take my client in my office so we won't bother you."

"No, really, I'm fine," Dick slurred hopelessly as he felt the sedative begin to take effect.

Sloan patted the boy's shoulder as the kid fell back against the cushions. "Just sleep," he said, sounding as though he were far away.

Fighting the drug, Dick sensed Sloan get up. He heard the lawyer go over to the door and let someone in. The two were talking in low voices, and Dick strained to hear what they were staying.

"…He's sleeping…won't wake up for a while…"

"You know….do with this stuff?"

"Got buyers…lined up…no….rid of it."

The conversation became more patchy as Dick began to lose to his struggle with the drug. Total blackness surrounded him as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Dick rubbed his eyes as he sat up. Confused, he looked around- this wasn't his room. He struggled to remember why he had been sleeping in his office. With a start, he remembered- Sloan had drugged him. He walked over the water jug, sipping it as he looked around the room. His gaze rested on a pile of papers sitting on his briefcase.

He walked over, picked up the top sheet, and read it with bleary eyes.

_Grayson-_

Lock the door behind you. Pick up those papers from James before you come to work again, and sort through this pile.

R. Sloan.

Dick looked at the pile, noting its height.

_Now I really DO feel sick,_ he thought with a groan.

He crouched down and stuffed the papers into his briefcase, throwing his paper cup over his shoulder and into the trash. Smiling grimly, he walked over to the potted plant. He reached behind it to pull out a small recorder. He slipped the device into his pocket, and left a new one in its stead.

_Good thing I rigged this while Sloan was getting his needle. Can't believe I had to let that creep knock me out. But how was Dick Grayson supposed to know that his employer would drug him?_ He touched his arm where Sloan had pricked him. _And at least he used a small needle._

He went out of the office and locked the door behind him before heading for the elevators. Once down to his bike, he swung on, driving slowly, and fighting the sleepy aftereffects of the drug.

He arrived at his apartment, ran up the stairs, and collapsed on the couch. Then, remembering the recording, he pulled out his player and pressed the button to listen. He heard his own mumblings and Sloan's nervous replies before it reached the section with Sloan and his visitor…


End file.
